


The Point of No Return

by little_abyss



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M, Pre-Poly, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 19:32:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6870574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Isabela's birthday, though it might be Hawke and Fenris getting the gift.  Or, how Hawke and Fenris met Anders by chance, and changed all their lives forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Point of No Return

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lekosis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lekosis/gifts).



> Thank you to lekosis for putting this idea (and the songs) into my head, and for being just a generally awesome human type person. Leko, buddy old pal, I hope that the Season of Madness has been good to you, can't wait to resume working on Secret Project #1! <3
> 
> For those who have no idea what I'm talking about, this fic originated with Leko sending me a link to the song ['Cake by the Ocean'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWaRiD5ym74) by DNCE, claiming it was the "FenHanders theme song". I refuted this claim, telling Leko in no uncertain terms that that particular honour was already taken by ['Magnets'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_KfnGBtVeA) by Disclosure, featuring Lorde. I wanted it to be a theme song battle, but it was all a bit reasonable, really. Disappointing (not really). Anyway, you'll find references to both these songs in the fic itself.

The artificial light dances on the surface of the water, making the bright summer moon seem pale by comparison.  Tonight is Isabela’s birthday, and they are there at Merrill’s behest to help her celebrate.  The party had been planned months in advance - a rooftop, poolside party, loud and bright.  The guests drink and dance under the city sky, bereft of stars, stolen from them by the light pollution; still, the lights from the towering skyscrapers which twinkle around them are beautiful in their own way, and Hawke believes that that counts for much.  

 

He stoops, kisses Fenris on the temple, and is rewarded with a smirk and an elbow to the ribs.  He laughs - they are standing on the edge of the dance floor, watching Isabela in her white dress and Merrill in green and pink florals as they whirl among the crowds.  “If you wanted to make yourself useful,” Fenris tells him, speaking loudly to be heard over the booming bass, and waggles his empty wineglass at Hawke, who smiles and sketches a bow.  

“Anything else while I’m at it?” he asks into Fenris’ ear. Fenris shakes his head, then reaches out a hand as Hawke steps away.  His fingers graze along Hawke’s hip, and through his thin shirt he can feel the trail of warmth they leave behind.  

“Don’t be long,” Fenris tells him, and smiles again, “That’s all I ask.”  Hawke drops a wink and nods, then turns and pushes his way through the crowd.

 

The music seems to follow him everywhere, almost more oppressive than the atmosphere.  It is a close night, the air itself seemingly on the verge of combustion.  It has been a summer to break records in Kirkwall - right across the Marches, there had been news items almost daily for weeks about how hot, how wet it had been.  There were flash fires reported outside of Tantervale, and parts of Starkhaven were still cleaning up after the Minanter had burst its banks under the weight of the summer storms.  Kirkwall itself had been experiencing rolling blackouts, an attempt to keep the predominantly hydroelectric power supply from completely running dry.  Still, at night, this kind of heat is glorious - turning the party into a seething, sweaty mass.   _Just the way Isabela likes it_ , Hawke thinks, thinking that they are not so dissimilar, for all that.  He laughs quietly to himself, almost at the front of the queue for the bar now, and then he stops dead and swallows.  

 

There, out on the dance floor, is a tall man.  He’s dancing with a very beautiful, though aloof looking elf, who wears a truly stunning grey-green halterneck dress, exposing a shapely back.  The fabric clings to her long legs, and her hair is auburn under the shining fairy lights.  The man has one hand on the elven woman’s waist, and he appears to be laughing, though from what Hawke can see of her expression, she is bored.  And although the woman is lovely, it is the man who has caught Hawke’s eye - the rather sly curl of his lip, the burnished copper of his hair, the elegant shape of his neck, his hands.  The mans pale blue t-shirt looks damp at the neckline and under the arms, and the thought of it makes Hawke grind his teeth together, makes him push his nails sharply into the soft flesh of his palms.  It’s something they’d talked about, he and Fenris, inviting someone else into their bed, and he wonders if Fenris would approve.  Because there is something, something about this man that Hawke cannot shake; he cannot put his finger on it, and he wonders at himself.   _You’re such a teenager,_ he thinks, _Maker, get a grip.  That’s probably his girlfriend and she’s just having an off night.  Don’t be that guy._  So he turns around again, rubs his sweaty hands on his pants, then approaches the bar, trying to put the thought of those red-gold locks, what they might look like in Fenris’ fist, out of his mind.

 

-|||-

 

“Happy birthday, dear ‘Bela!  Happy birthday to you!” the crowd hollar, and Merrill beams at them.  “Bunch of assholes,” Isabela tells them all affectionately once the song has ended, then sweeps her hair back to bend and blow out the candles.  

She manages to get them all with one huge puff, and Hawke yells, “Now _that’s_ a blow job!”  Most of those assembled laugh, though he sees Seb roll his eyes at him.   _No fun git_ , Hawke thinks, and pouts at the other man, then blows him a kiss.  Seb just gives him the finger from a distance and Hawke laughs again.  Merrill jumps up and down delightedly all of a sudden, clapping her hands.  

“Cake time!” she screeches, and Hawke grins at her.  

 

He turns slightly, looking at Fenris as the music increases in volume again.  Fenris looks at him, and smiles.  

“They’re good for each other, aren’t they?” Fenris murmurs, and Hawke nods as they watch Isabela kiss the top of Merrill’s head as she recieves the first cut of cake.  She smiles at the elf, then pops a dab of frosting onto Merrill’s nose and laughs.  Merrill tries to look at the white blob, cross-eyed, then attempts to reach it using only her tongue.  Isabela laughs again, kisses it off, then kisses Merrill on the mouth.  Hawke sighs.  

“Yeah,” he says, then catches sight of the tall man again.  He is embracing Isabela, kissing her cheek, smiling at Merrill.  

“Hey,” Hawke says tentatively, and feels Fenris’ eyes upon him.  “Hey, that guy over there, the one talking to ‘Bela… what do you think?”

 

“About what?”  Fenris frowns and sounds puzzled.  “I don’t know him.”  He cocks his head, looking at the man again, seeming to consider him more thoroughly through narrowed eyes.  “He’s quite… attractive.  He looks… I don’t know, delicate, sort of.  But perhaps not as shy as he pretends to be.  Oh.”  Fenris looks at Hawke and his lips move as if he is trying to supress a smile, “I think someone is remembering a certain conversation we had not that long ago.”  He snorts, and now the smirk is definitely there, “Well, go ahead.  See what he says.  Then come find me, and we can go from there.  Unless you fuck it up, of course.”

 

Hawke pouts and puts his hand on his chest, mock-horrified.  “You wound me, good ser.  I haven’t met a man yet who proved totally impervious to the Hawke mojo.”  He grins playfully and waggles his eyebrows, “Worked on you, didn’t it?”

Fenris smiles ruefully and shakes his head, then steps closer to Hawke to cup his dick through his jeans, smiling up into his face as Hawke gasps at the touch.  “Call it sympathy.  Anyone who makes such witticisms as you needs all the pity fucks they can get.  Sad little man.”

“Asshole,” Hawke growls, and bends down to kiss Fenris.  It turns heated, until Hawke pulls back with a sigh.  Fenris squeezes him once, hard, then lets go, still smirking.  “Watch and learn,” Hawke tells Fenris as he steps away; Fenris laughs, and raises an eyebrow as he says, “What not to do, perhaps.”  Still, the look on his face is one of approval as Hawke takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, then walks forward, wondering what in the hell he will say.

 

The man has had a piece of cake on a napkin pressed into his hands by Merrill, and is slowly walking away, considering it, when Hawke catches him.  “Hey,” Hawke says, touching the man on the elbow, giving him his best, most charming smile.  “After you’re done with your cake, do you want to dance?”

“I think I’m already done with this cake,” the man says, then blinks, looks up at Hawke and frowns.  “Maybe,” he says, “Maybe I’ll dance.  Who’s asking?”

“Me,” Hawke says, and smirks.  He shifts from foot to foot, moving with a lithe grace as the man’s amber eyes rove over his face and down.  He knows he looks good, but frankly, if you can’t look good to someone in this low, ambient lighting and with the way the liquor’s been flowing tonight, it might just be time to give the whole game up entirely.  “Well,” Hawke says, leaning a little closer to the man to be heard over the loud music, “While you decide on the cake, do you mind if I stay, talk to you for a bit?”

 

“‘S’pose,” the man says, and picks at the cake, only a crumb or two, then puts it into his mouth.  He grimaces, and Hawke beams.  “My name’s Tal, Taliesin Hawke.”  He holds out his hand, and the man switches the cake over and shakes with him.  “I’ve known ‘Bela for ages, since college really.  I studied Fereldan literature and philosophy, though I majored in pot smoking and bad decision making.  So, ‘Bela and I shared a major.”  He laughs, and the man smiles a little and raises his eyebrow.  “I work with my brother, we run a bar.  Mostly into the ground, truth be told.”  He cocks his head, looking at the man expectantly, and then asks, “What about you?”

 

The man pauses, and then says, “Anders.  I work at the hospital - that’s where I know Merrill from.  The haem lab do a lot of business with ED, as you might imagine.”

Hawke nods, then says, “ED… that’s emergency department, right?”  When Anders nods, he says, “So, are you a doctor, then?”

Anders shakes his head, “No, I’m a nurse.”  He narrows his eyes as if expecting Hawke to say something, but Hawke nods and smiles instead, and Anders appears to relax slightly.  Hawke swallows and takes this as his opportunity.  

“So,” he says slowly, “Look, you can choose to answer this or not, but… that woman you were dancing with before?  Is that your girlfriend?”

 

Anders looks at his fingers, and licks a piece of frosting from one of them.  “No,” he says blandly, “That was an ex-colleague.  She’s always been an ice-queen, I just like riling her up.  Or I did.  She’s a typical surgeon, really.  Bit of a superiority complex.”  He looks at Hawke steadily, and Hawke sees a faint smile on his lips.  Anders looks down then, toys with his cake a little more, and then looks up again, sharply as he says, “Why?”

 

“Just wondering.  Always nice if one can prepare oneself to get punched in the face, you understand,” Hawke grins, and Anders laughs a little.  Hawke licks his lip, and sees Anders eyes flick briefly to his mouth as he does.  He raises his chin, smirking, and bites his bottom lip.  “Because, you know.  I know a lot of things a pretty girl might not know.” He steps close to Anders, leaning in to gust the words against the shell of his ear, “Like how good it feels when someone puts their hot lips around the head of your cock, sucks on it, how it feels for you to put your dick in someone, all that wet heat around you, and how you feel when you know you can fuck them as hard as you like, you know they can take it, they want it.  How good it feels when someone jerks you off as someone else tongues your ass.  That’s the kind of thing I know.”  

 

He feels Anders breath on his neck, and looks down into the space between them.  Anders has crushed the piece of cake in his hand in such a way that the fingertips of all four fingers are covered in white frosting.  Hawke smirks, wondering if he’s perhaps pushing this a little too far at this point, but when Anders says nothing, doesn’t walk away or tell him he’s not interested, just keeps still, Hawke carefully takes the cake from Anders hand.  Holding it away, he uses his other hand to raise Anders hand to his lips, looks at the other man for a moment before smiling and opening his mouth.  He swipes his tongue over the first finger, and Anders’ eyes widen for a moment then close as Hawke puts the whole finger into his mouth.  He suckles gently on the digit, rubbing his tongue against it, sluicing the spit around his mouth to create a different kind of friction. Finally, with a faint pop, Hawke relinquishes the first finger and goes to work on the second.  Anders opens his eyes and clears his throat, then asks, “The man you were kissing - he doesn’t mind you acting like this?  I mean, don’t stop, but I’m not into being dragged into anything.” He smirks and raises an eyebrow at Hawke, ”In the interests of not being punched in the face.”

 

Hawke shakes his head, somewhat pleased at the question; it indicates both that Anders had noticed them prior to this conversation, and that he’s actually a nice guy.  He gives up the second finger, and tells Anders, “No, he doesn’t mind.  We’re not having a fight, I’m not trying to drag you anywhere you don’t want to be dragged.  You’re beautiful, so I talked to him, and he said I should ask you.  If you wanted to be with both of us.  That’s him over there.  The guy with the white hair.”  He looks over, points with his chin to where Fenris is dancing with Isabela.  Fenris catches Hawke’s gaze and rolls his eyes, then frowns slightly, a kind of tentative interest on his face when he sees Anders looking as well.  He smirks a little, and goes back to dancing, though Hawke notes that he swings his hips with a little more enthusiasm than before.  

 

He chuckles, and looks back toward Anders, who is looking at Fenris still.  As he watches, Anders absentmindedly puts his hand to his mouth, sucks the frosting from the tip of his ring finger, and Hawke finds the gesture far more seductive than it is meant to be.  He takes a deep breath, and lets it out again in a rush.  “So,” he says, “I’ve asked.  Don’t rush, we’re here for the long haul.  But think about it, alright?  And Anders?”  Anders looks at him, his expression carefully neutral, “Come find me, okay?  Let me know.”  He smiles, and Anders nods.  Hawke laughs, and holds out the half-smushed cake to him.  “Do you want this back, or can I have it?”

 

“You have it,” Anders tells him, and smiles.  He crosses one hand over his body, cupping the opposite elbow, and purses his lips, looking suddenly as if he’ll speak again.  “Think about it,” Hawke says, smiling, and turns to walk away.

 

-|||-

 

The evening gets sweatier, and full clouds begin to lumber over the sky, blotting out the moons limpid glow.  It seems a storm is on the way.  But they dance, and drink and dance some more; the potential for summer rain holds no terror for them.  Hawke’s tongue is thick with sugar and champagne, and he laughs breathily into Fenris’ ear as they dance, close, the sweat making their shirts stick to their chests.  It seems hours, the music segueing from one track to the next, but perhaps it is not as long as he thinks when he feels a tap on his shoulder.

 

Hawke stops dancing to turn, and Fenris peers around him.  Behind Hawke stands Anders, a thoughtful expression on his face, his posture very similar to the one Hawke had left him with - one hand on the opposite elbow, the arm crossed over his chest.  He blinks, and leans close to Hawke to yell into his ear, “I thought about what you said.”

 

Hawke raises his eyebrows, expecting a _thanks but no thanks,_ but nothing comes.  He casts a quick glance at Fenris, who shrugs, shaking his head slightly; he doesn’t know either.  Finally, Hawke asks, “And?”

Anders nods once, then again, more firmly.  He looks past Hawke, at Fenris, then says, “Yeah.  Yeah, I do.  I want to.”  He licks his lips nervously and grins, “Been awhile since I’ve done anything like this though.”

 

Wordlessly, Fenris holds out his arm toward Anders.  Anders hesitates a moment, then walks forward.  Fenris slides his hand over Anders’ shoulder, then takes him by the back of the neck, bringing their faces together.  Hawke can see Fenris’ lips moving against the shell of Anders’ ear, but cannot for the life of him make out what is being said.  All he sees is the way Anders’ hands reach out toward Fenris’ waist, slowly, tentatively.  He smiles as he watches the two of them - trust Fenris to know exactly what is needed here.  He puts his hand on Anders’ back, and then the other on Fenris’ shoulder, then comes closer, not trying to listen in, but making the two of them aware of his presence.  Finally, Fenris stops talking, and the two of them look at Hawke, and he feels it, he doesn't know how this works, but it does, this rightness, this perfection.  It’s what he feels, and he knows this night will last forever; it’s not the play of fairy lights in a pool to be made insignificant by the light of the sun, but more like the moon - changing, moving, but bending even the tides to its will.  He smiles, bends towards the two men slightly, and tells them, “Then let’s go.”


End file.
